


Long Overdue

by Slumber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Post-Canon, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: In which Draco is in denial about many things.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Kingsley Shacklebolt
Kudos: 12





	Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://torino10154.livejournal.com/profile)[**torino10154**](https://torino10154.livejournal.com/) , I hope you enjoy this! I certainly had fun writing it. :) Much thanks to my beta, [](https://ccharlotte.livejournal.com/profile)[**ccharlotte**](https://ccharlotte.livejournal.com/) , without whom I would not have felt confident letting this see the light of day. Any errors are due to my post-beta meddling. Written for [](https://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/profile)[**smutty_claus**](https://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/) and originally posted [here](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/176710.html).

"You know, I don't think it'll hurt if your mother starts seeing other people."

Draco groans. He feels his cock twitch a little, wilt a little, as he thrusts inside Astoria. "Why," he asks with a sigh, teeth grazing her earlobe, "must we talk of my mother at this very moment?"

She giggles, palms on his chest as she pushes him to his back, her legs straddling his hips. He groans, the move driving his cock deeper inside her, breath caught in his throat when she shakes out her dark curls, soft waves framing her face. Her fingers trace teasing, maddening patterns on his stomach, and as desire coils low in his abdomen and blood rushes south anew, she rolls her hips deliberately against his.

"Gods," he groans, rolling her nipple between his fingers. She shrieks, swats his hand away, pinning both his wrists to his sides as she leans over, hardened nubs grazing against the skin of his chest, soft feathery hair tickling his chin as she moves, too slow for his liking. There is a spark of something mischievous in her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she sighs, as she moans, as her breathing hitches every time he grinds up against her.

"She's still fit, you know," Astoria says again, and when Draco groans this time it's less about lust.

"Really, Astoria?"

"She could give Caterina a run for her money, is all I'm saying." Astoria, apparently, has no concern for his waning libido. She only laughs when Draco whines his protest. "I hear Robards is interested." Almost as an afterthought, she clenches around him; he throws his head back-- _gods_ that feels good.

"All right," he gasps. "For one thing, anybody with half a brain will choose my mother over an untimely death. For another, Robards is too undignified a prospect to even consider. And finally."

"Finally?"

He squirms out of her hold, twisting from beneath her to push her onto her back. He covers her mouth with his palm, chuckling as she nips at his fingers and dropping a tight _fuck_ when she suckles on his digits. "Stop talking about her," he whispers, lifting her leg to to wrap it around his waist. She does, her thighs tightening around his hips as she moves in time with him, each thrust punctuated by a small gasp, a clenching of her fingers in his hair. She arches into him, trembling, unraveling, the heels of her feet digging against the back of his calf when she cries at last.

* * *

"Are you going to the benefit tonight?" he asks once she's rolled over, tugging her stockings on and slipping back into her dress. He crawls over when she pulls her hair over her shoulder, zipping up the dark green fabric to cover the rest of her bare back.

"What benefit?"

"The one you organized for the Harpies?" She likes playing coy, but he doesn't always have the patience for it.

"I should hope so, if I've organized it," she says, Summoning her shoes and slipping her feet into them. "Don't forget the dress code's formal, and make sure your mother comes along too. My mum liked to pretend she didn't need to socialize after dad left, but trust me, she'll appreciate you for it."

"I didn't say I'd be going." Also, he wants to point out, it's his mother who left, and it isn't as though the divorce was due to anything but a simple (temporary) parting of ways. His mother doesn't need anybody new, and neither does his father.

She is already at the door. "That's a pity," she tells him. "Especially if you've already paid fifty galleons per plate."

"I haven't--"

"Organizer, remember?" She waves him goodbye. "See you later."

Draco rolls his eyes as the door shuts behind her. He Summons his clothes and glances at the clock. It is nearly noon, his lunch break almost over. He should hurry back to the office, but his mind (and cock) are already too distracted by the prospect of seeing Astoria again that night.

* * *

"Darling," Narcissa murmurs, patting Draco's arm fondly. She wears the indulgent smile reserved only for occasions when Draco least wants to feel like a child, but he knows there is no malice behind the gesture. "I can attend a benefit by myself, you know."

"You should be escorted," he says, not least because _Robards_ , really? And anyway, Theodore sent him word earlier that day that Lucius did indeed plan to attend as well, with some young slag he's apparently been busying himself with since Narcissa left him. His mother is certainly more dignified than _that_. "It's only proper."

Narcissa laughs and squeezes his arm. "I have been to functions by myself, I hope you realize. I'd rather not keep you from meeting new friends, or--"

He winces at the word. "Mother--"

"Or young witches," she finishes. "Draco, you can't tell me you have no interest."

"I do," he insists, and Merlin, must they discuss his personal life this very instant? She's already smiling like she knows more than she's letting on. "Mother, we'll be late," is all he says, a feeble attempt to deflect the conversation.

Mercifully, she takes pity on him. "We mustn't keep anyone waiting, then."

* * *

" _Daphne_?" Draco hisses, struggling to maintain his annoyance. It proves difficult, however, what with Astoria's giggle tickling the sensitive spot just below his ear, and her fingers working over the buttons of his robes, and her thigh pressing none-too-subtly against his crotch. "Merlin, 'storia--"

A nip at his earlobe, a warm tongue curling against his neck. Fuck. "Mm?"

"You didn't--she's with my _father_ \--"

"Oh, it's only a phase," Astoria says, pulling back with a sigh and leaving Draco bereft of her. Before he catches himself, he's already tugged her back to him, coaxing her slim frame to nestle against him. (His mother insisted she could be left alone, earlier that night, and he tried to wave her off but Astoria happened to pass by.) "Positive she's only trying to get Wood jealous."

"She's young enough to be--"

"They're both making fools of themselves," she agrees, her hands on his chest. "But I don't think it lasts more than a few weeks at most. Besides--"

"Besides?"

"Caterina's probably got her eye on him now that Number Nine's gone the way of the last eight husbands."

Draco groans. "And I'm supposed to feel better about this?"

* * *

No, Astoria admits, but later, when her back is pressed to the wall, her dress skirt bunched up around her waist, her fingers in his hair and his cock deep inside her, when her soft moans fill the quiet of the night and the stone wall feels cool against his palm, her body hot against his, there's little else occupying his mind.

* * *

The Prophet gobbles up the news when Lucius and Daphne part ways, planting the seeds of new rumors--Daphne, they say, had merely been after the publicity, and has been photographed in the arms of various Quidditch players since, and once even with Theodore Nott, although from the photograph provided, it looked only as though Theodore had been supporting an inebriated Daphne's weight.

"Various is an overstatement, really," Draco tells Narcissa when he sees her put the article down. "She's been with Wood the entire time."

Narcissa glances up at him with a small smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't mean to surprise you." Draco frowns, noting the crumbs on a plate, the empty pot of tea on a small tray. "Did you have company?"

"Caterina stopped by today, yes," she says, and Draco thinks there's more that she's not saying, so he waits for the other proverbial shoe to drop. "She asked after your father."

* * *

"She was _very_ interested in what happened with your sister."

"Mm, I'm sure she was," Astoria murmurs with a disaffected sigh. Her lashes flutter lazily, and Draco resists brushing the wayward strands of hair off her cheeks, because that would be a touch too tender, wouldn't it, a touch too intimate, and if there was one thing they were not, well. Instead he tugs the blanket lower, nudges her thigh with his knee. He watches the corner of her lips twitch, curl upward into a grin. "Another go?"

He smirks. "Only if you can keep up."

"Don't be ridiculous," she tells him, already straddling him, her curls framing her face and tickling his skin where they brush past it.

* * *

Before she leaves--her once-bare back zipped up and covered by the rich green of her robes, dark hair fastened and pulled up to the smart bun she favors when at work, glamors reapplied and purse tucked under her arm--she gives him a knowing look and tells her not to worry about Caterina.

* * *

A Mystery Man, The Daily Prophet says. It's what they dub Lucius Malfoy when he is spotted in Paris canoodling with Caterina Zabini, what they call him when they catch the pair taking a moonlit stroll along the riverbanks of Venice. A Mystery Man, they declare, claiming they have not seen his face nor verified his identity, but that's The Prophet for you: relentless and brutal when it's not the galleon in your vaults lining their pockets.

"It doesn't mention your father at all in the article, Draco," Narcissa points out, unruffled despite it all. She pauses to sip some of her tea, setting it down before patting the seat beside her. "Come. Sit down. Your pacing is distracting."

"This is ridiculous," Draco grouses, already riled up at the oncoming scandal, the imminent death. "She's clearly after his money, and it isn't--"

"Caterina tells me she's in love," Narcissa says.

"She told you?"

Narcissa pauses. "No, she didn't admit it was him. But if she is in love, and your father and I aren't, then I don't see--"

"This is _ridiculous_ ," Draco repeats, with the emphasis on 'ridiculous' in case his mother did not hear him the first time. "He ought to know better than--"

"Oh, Draco, you don't really believe those rumors about her, do you?"

"Of course not!" Draco lies. "But all the same, he--"

"Does it bother you," she asks again, "that he's seeing other people?"

Draco frowns. "No," he finally says after a while.

But it is a lie and they both know it.

* * *

Astoria isn't at her desk when he drops by that afternoon. He really should have owled first anyway.

"When is she going to be back?" he asks Cathy at reception.

She only blinks back at him. "Um, she doesn't work here anymore," she says. "The Magpies hired her."

"Since when?"

"Two weeks ago."

* * *

The Harpies have a simple policy: they hire only women. There's a long story behind this that's only fascinating if you're one of them or interested in bedding someone who is, but until Draco Malfoy steps into the Montrose Magpies offices he does not know how grateful he is for the Harpies' policy.

Because the Magpies seem to hire only strapping young wizards who have no other purpose in life but to swarm Astoria Greengrass. Despite her laughter, her easy smiles, Draco is sure she must be suffocating from the attention, so he shoves his way past.

"Draco!" she says, and he doesn't miss the relief in her voice. Her brow furrows (with concern, no doubt, that she'd forgotten to tell him about her new job, and all the _wizards_ in it) and she pulls him into a quiet corner of the room.

He glares haughtily at the rest of them. Shows them right.

"What are you doing here?" she asks when they are a safe distance away.

"I came to pick you up for lunch."

She narrows her eyes. "I'm barely here two weeks! We don't exactly have private offices either, so if you came all the way here for a quick fuck--"

"Hold on, no, what?" He blinks. Granted, that is usually what lunch means between the two of them, but he'd noticed an Italian restaurant down the road that he thought she might have wanted to try. "I was--"

"Sorry, I really can't right now." She huffs and turns away before he can reply.

* * *

"I'm seeing someone."

The confession comes between setting down a scone and picking up a cup of tea. Draco's in the middle of sipping his, the hot liquid first rushing down the back of his throat and then surging back up when he chokes.

"Draco, are you all right?"

"What?" he manages, grabbing a napkin to dab at the spilt tea staining his robes. Why does no one tell him anything these days? "Since when?"

Narcissa, at least, has the grace to look sheepish. "Since the benefit."

"What? Who? How? It isn't Robards, is it?"

"Robards? What's--heavens, no. What do you take me for!"

"Well--I thought not, I just-- _who_ , then?"

* * *

"How serious are they, really?" Theodore asks. He reaches for the bottle of Ogden's but Draco beats him to it first, swatting his hand away before his fingers close around the bottle's neck. Draco contemplates how much to pour into his too-small glass before deciding to cut the middle man out.

"They're talking marriage," he utters darkly. "They haven't even been together longer than--"

"They _are_ older," Theodore points out. "They know better what they like and they don't waste time on flimsy conversation."

Draco narrows his eyes. If anyone knows, he supposes it would be Theodore Nott, who was probably born forty years old. Even as they were, at Draco's suggestion, getting 'smashed', Theodore has only poured himself one proper serving of Firewhiskey and has taken care to pace Draco's consumption. "Well it's stupid," he declares anyway, protesting when Theodore extracts the bottle from his grip.

"And I can't think of any men more worthy of your mother than Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Don't speak his name," Draco pleads. "Bloody Shackle--"

"He's widowed, he's never been caught in anything controversial, and I can tell you for a fact we've never found him doing anything that wasn't strictly within the rules," Theodore says. "The Ministry adores him still. Everyone does. Your mother couldn't have chosen a better wizard."

Draco frowns. "Whose side are you on? You're practically giving her away to the highest bidder!"

"That isn't--"

"Might as well let my father take his chances on Caterina too, you'll probably tell me next, right?"

"Caterina Zabini?" Theodore echoes with a frown. "He's interested in her?"

"How many Caterinas do you know?" Draco shrugs. "They're canoodling together in Paris or something. She's asked after him, she's obviously interested! Merlin, Blaise would be a horrendous step-sibling."

"Ah. You realize the last husband died of natural causes while she was at a gala?"

"So?"

Theodore shrugs. "I don't think she's after your father, for what it's worth. And assuming she is, well." He casts Draco a sidelong glance. "You didn't really think your parents would remarry, did you?"

* * *

"What do you want?" Astoria wants to know. Is it just him or has she started looking crankier now that she's working with more men?

"Theodore's a _terrible_ drinking partner," he announces. "Mind if I go in?"

"You already are," she points out, closing the door behind him. "Do you need a--"

"Firewhiskey please, they ran out of Ogden's at the pub."

"--glass of water, I was going to say."

"Don't you have Firewhiskey? I'll take pinot noir, isn't that your favorite?"

"Actually, I'm more of a white wine kind of witch," she says, disappearing into the kitchen momentarily and returning with a pitcher of water. "But you look like you've had enough."

Draco frowns. It's exactly what Theodore had said. "Well I haven't," he says, but he doesn't see the point of arguing with Astoria, not when she's not kicked him out of her flat as he'd kind of worried she would. "My parents are remarrying."

"Each other?" She cocks her head to the side, and a soft smile cracks the coolness of her facade. "That's wonderful, Draco."

"No, other people." He swills the liquid in his glass before realizing it's water. Taking a swig of it doesn't help make it any better. "My mother's been seeing Shacklebolt and they want me to have dinner with them."

"You make it sound like a hanging."

Draco wrinkles his nose. Because it is, he wants to say, but he suspects Astoria won't find that all that sympathetic. He pours himself another glass of water. It really does need a bit more alcohol. "You should come with me," he says at last.

"Me?" Astoria doesn't look angry, when he finds the nerve to glance up at her.

"Please?"

* * *

Dinner is an excruciating affair. His mother is so sickeningly _besotted_ and Shacklebolt ("Please, call me Kingsley.") so maddeningly _proper_ that Draco has to excuse himself from the table ever so often just so he can roll his eyes in private.

It helps that Astoria's hand is on his knee and that she squeezes him every time his mother and Shacklebolt share a secret, lovelorn look or laugh at an inside joke, but he begins to question her allegiance when she laughs at Shacklebolt's anecdotes and asks him about his career.

"I'm glad you brought her to dinner," Narcissa tells him once they are alone, the pair of them picking up tea and sweets in the kitchen while Shacklebolt and Astoria retire to the parlor. "You should have told me you were seeing her!"

"We aren't dating," Draco denies, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. She's--whatever's in the middle, he supposes, of a friend and a girlfriend, that he happens to occasionally have sex with--undiscussable with his mother.

Narcissa doesn't argue. Instead she hums, picks up the tray, and smiles his way when she settles in beside Shacklebolt, her fingers entwined in his and her head light on his shoulder.

* * *

It only takes him a few weeks of visiting Astoria at the Magpies' office before he gathers the nerve to do what he suspects Narcissa had wanted him to that night at dinner. (He isn't sure if it is a skill born of being a Black, a woman, or a mother, but he is both properly wary of and powerless against it all the same.)

"The Magpies--are they all single?" he asks over a plate of angel hair pasta drizzled with white wine sauce and dusted with parmesan cheese. It's the lunch portion of their hour-long lunch breaks--something of an improvement, Draco's surprised to find, over the hour-long lunch breaks when they had anything _but_ food (discounting, of course, that disastrous experiment involving chocolate, honey, and the Harpies' lounge).

"Why, Draco, I didn't know you were interested!" Astoria exclaims, the corner of her lips quirking into a smirk. He kicks her ankle lightly and she laughs. "Stop that."

"Does it look like _I'm_ interested?" he asks. "Do they bother you?"

"Bother me?"

"You know." He waves his fork in the air, scowling. "They can be a persistent lot, Quidditch players. Don't often take no for answers and such. Do they bother you?"

Her words are glib, careful and neutral for all intents and purposes if not for the slight arch of her eyebrow. "Some of them," she admits. "But I generally don't mix business with pleasure."

"You ought to tell them you're unavailable," he says. "Tell them you're seeing someone, maybe. That'll get them to stop."

"Oh?"

He feels a slight flush creep to his cheeks when she glances up to meet his gaze. "If you wish to, that is," he amends.

"If I wish to what? Get them to stop, or start seeing you?"

* * *

Kingsley isn't so bad, all things considered. He turns out to be a staunch Magpies supporter, but Draco supposes everyone has their flaws. Dinners with Kingsley and his mother become more bearable over time, although he wonders if Astoria's presence at each and every one of them has anything at all to do with that.

"I take it you're letting him take your mother to the Frost Ball, then?" Theodore wants to know.

"I suppose," Draco concedes. "I'm taking Astoria anyway."

"Of course. I'm sure Shacklebolt appreciates that."

"Do you know if my father's arriving with Caterina yet?"

"Sorry, was I supposed to be finding that out for you?"

Draco frowns. He prefers Theodore when he's not being cheeky. "You oversee the guest list, your company runs security. Make sure my mother doesn't see Caterina with my father."

* * *

"You _did_ ask him to," Astoria tells him, her voice a soft murmur that blends in with the Frost Ball orchestra. He buries his face in her neck, letting her rub circles on his back. "At least it wasn't your father?"

Draco shudders; the image remains seared in his memory, and it isn't one that's likely to be forgotten anytime soon. "I'm supposed to feel better about this?"

She giggles. "You know," she says, "I guess in hindsight it actually makes sense, don't you think?"

"What?"

"And anyway, as long as Caterina and Theodore are happy--"

He wrinkles his nose. "And just whose side are you on?"

"Tell you what." She leans up toward him as they one-two through the ballroom, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "If they ever ask you to dinner, you can take me with you."

It's as good a plan as any. "You better."


End file.
